


To Love Without Sanction

by Everthewinglessflyer



Series: Vipera Aspis Atra [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Cover Art, Dark, F/F, F/M, Horror, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Psychological Horror, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rated For Violence, plot with plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-15 14:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17530592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everthewinglessflyer/pseuds/Everthewinglessflyer
Summary: A boy without heart meets a girl without home and he promises then to cherish her always- with or without her sanction.A love story, albeit; an unorthodox one.





	1. The Cloaked Woman, The Boy Without Heart, And The Girl Without Home

 

The year was 1926 and the dreary lamp lit streets of London were flooded with fog so thick that the people still mosing about were rendered nearly completely sightless. There were few people out that night, and the ones that were likely night prowlers. The occasional automobile drove trepidatiously and at a snail’s pace. This, incidentally, was a good thing, for had a certain black car not driven as slowly as it had, it might have driven over the hooded figure standing in the middle of the road. _Probably a gutter whore or a homeless person_ , the driver thought as he slowed to a stop a few meters away from it. Cantankerous, he honked his car horn. The figure made no move to clear away. It just stood there, stalk still. Being an old and irritable man, the driver honked again, only to again be ignored. He rolled down his window and shouted “Hello there! I say; would you kindly _move?”_

Decidedly fractious when the figure did not budge, he honked a third time, and again; no movement.

He sighed and clambered out of his vehicle. It would not do to run over the person and dent his favoured Crossley Bugatti. Slamming his car door shut, he marched towards the figure until he stood directly in front of it. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was wearing a frayed cloak. “I said, would you _move?_ You are blocking the street, you know.” Upon being ignored for a fourth time, he reached out and yanked the hood from the person’s face, only to gasp audibly at what he saw.

It was a woman, and a young one at that, but that’s not what had him shook. If ever there was ever a ghastlier sight, he did not know, but as he stared upon the sallowest, deathly gaunt face he ever did see; he thought not. She was wet with cold sweat and shivering fiercely. Her matted hair clung in sopping tendrils to her forehead and cheeks and her teeth chattered loudly. She was also, he noticed then, clutching her stomach and heavily pregnant.

He had half a mind to manually heave her off the road, when her heavily lidded eyes flickered to meet his gaze before flitting forward again, and something inside him warned him not to. Something about her reminded him of a look that his brothers wore in the war. A look he knew _he_ himself had never worn. The look was one of determination and desolate knowingness that death was inevitable and looming ever closer. A look that said all too clearly: Death may have me, but he may not have me easily.

Taken aback, his mannerism changed abruptly from irritation to alertness and alarm. He found himself unconsciously worried for the woman. He spoke to her more softly then, but was still rewarded with silence. He looked around in unease and anxiety; surely there was a purpose the woman’s forlorn presence there, in the middle of a street, in the dead of night? He followed her gaze to the gated building which she was facing. Squinting at the hanging address sign, he saw that it read _Wool’s Orphanage_.

Still speaking lowly and softly, he placed a hand at the small of the woman’s back and made to guide her inside. She moved then, so suddenly that he started. She jerked away from him and looked up at him with eyes blown wide.

“I have to do it!” She shrieked with a voice so shrill and gravelly that he backed away.

“I-I- do what?” He stammered.

She let out a painful whine and stumbled forward, towards the orphanage. “I have to do it! I _must_!” She reached its wrought iron gates and pummeled her fists against them, tearfully screaming: “Please! _Please, I have to do it! Please!_ ”

He stood aside and watched her tirade, quite beside himself with befuddlement. She yelled and shook the bars until a light seeped through the London fog and he knew the orphanage’s front doors had been opened. He watched as two women dressed in sleeping robes hurried to the gates to inspect the source of the panicky cries. He watched as they hurriedly unlocked the gates and escorted the deathly woman inside. He watched as she staggered indoors with each matron firmly grasping an arm to keep her upright, and as he watched; a feeling of such sadness and sorrow spread through him that he raised a hand to hurting heart. He found himself engulfed in grief. He knew very little about the woman in the cloak, but of one thing he was certain: she would not live to see another sunrise.

 

❖

 

The year was 1933 and a boy of seven by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle sat cross-legged on his bed, unable to sleep, staring at the wall in front of him. He was a quiet and isolate boy who rarely interacted with the other children at Wool’s Orphanage, unless it was to coerce them into doing him favours or bully them into doing his chores. Distinctly different to the rest of them; he did not play childish games or read childish stories. In fact, for one so young, he had barely any child in him. And being so different, he, unlike the others there, despised birthdays with fervor.

He narrowed his eyes at the wall. It was going to be a bad day, he could tell. The matrons in charge of running the orphanage ritualistically gave out sweets on birthdays, but this year Tom would refuse them. This birthday would be spent there, alone and cross-legged on his bed, staring at a wall and wishing he was anywhere else.

The day was the 31st of December, the day that marked the last day of the year, and the first day of Tom’s life. His hands curled into fists in his lap. _Yes_ , he thought stoically, _today is going to be my worst birthday ye_ t.

 

❖

 

In Bristol, an orphan girl by the name of Gale Solothurn was to be transferred to a different orphanage-asylum in a few hours time. She tossed and turned in her cot of a bed; wide-eyed, frightened, and unable to sleep. This would be her first transfer. Bell’s Orphanage, the orphanage in which she was raised, was overflowing and overfull. She, along with five others, would be relocated to Wool’s come daybreak.

 _In a few hours time. S_ he sighed and rolled over, onto her back. She sighed again when this position did nothing to ease her discomfort and rubbed a hand over her face. It was no use trying to sleep. Sleep would not come to her that night. She sat up, pushed her bed covers aside, replaced her pillow more comfortably behind her, and leaned back against it. She stared at the wall in front of her. Her mind whirred with the infinite possibilities of what the orphanage would be like. Would it be warm or would it be cold? Would it be gray or would it be green? Would she be friendless and unpopular, or would she be accepted and well-liked. And most importantly; would there be anyone like her there? Or would she again be the only one who was different.

She raised a hand to her hair and undid her shabby braid. Tendril by tendril, she took it apart, until it flowed down her front and onto her lap. She held out her hand in front of her, opened her palm, and stared intently at the hair ribbon placed in the center of it. As she stared at it, she willed it to move. Gradually, it began to vibrate. Then, little by little, it began to float up and off her skin, until it hovered a few centimetres in the air. She let her hand drop to her side, still staring intently at it. She willed it to sway this way and that. It did. She willed it to spin. It did. She willed it to spin faster, until it was but a blur of grayish-brown, and it did as she wished. Surely she could not be the only one who was different. Surely there were others out there who could will things to move with their minds, as she could.

 _Perhaps at Wool's_ , she thought unenthusiastically; _But then again, perhaps not._

She stopped focus on the hair ribbon and it dropped dead onto the bedspread. She let her head fall back into the pillow and stared again at the wall, wishing upon wish that the place she was going to would be better than the place she was leaving behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading the prologue of my little novella!  
> I'm sending you a huge hug and kissing your cheek profusely!  
> I welcome comments because I adore criticism, and because I likely have spelling mistakes (because I am multilingual:)  
> Have at me Grammar Nazis and cynics!


	2. Before They Met, They Were Both Without Joy

Gale Solothurn stood in line with five other children on the sidewalk outside of Bell’s Orphanage, watching nervously as the double-decker omnibus that would take them to Wool's Orphanage pulled up at the curb in front of them. The day was dreary, cold, and wet. _Fitting_ , she thought dully: _Perfectly_ _fitting_.

She looked at up the sinister gray sky and wondered idly why it was that today of all days had to be the day of the transfer. Why could it not have been yesterday, or tomorrow? Why were the worst events of the year always compiled into one day: The 31st of December. Ever since she could remember, the 31st of December has been marred by the most horrible incidents of the entire year. It was on this day, years ago, that her birth Father had adopted her, only to return her to Bell’s Orphanage exactly one year later, _on the same day_. It was also the day she had discovered that she was different, freakish, by accidentally setting fire to a Jack Denick’s hair in anger without so much as laying a finger on him when he had shoved her face first into a brick wall, effectively breaking her nose. It was on this day last year that the thin, beak-nosed Head Matron Miss Rue had invited a priest to the orphanage to exorcise her of the "demons" with which she was possessed. He had strapped her to a chair, thrown water on her face, and fervently recited ominous and odd sounding Latin words at her. Every year, on this day, something bad had happened. Every year, including this one. 

As she looked up at the sheath of dark clouds, flecks of hale began to fall, and a speck hit her cheek. She groaned, and looked forward again. A hand tapped her shoulder. She turned around. Jack Denick stood behind her in the line and looked down at her imperiously. He was three years her senior, though she secretly thought herself twice his age in maturity. Even at the tender age of eight, she thought herself cleverer that all the rest of the orphans put together. She quirked an eyebrow at him in question.

“So, Skank-face, you and me again, eh?” He said, grinning.

She scowled and turned her back to him. They were always being paired together for activities and on outings. She knew why, of course. The pairing was purely tactful for the matrons: Pair the worst behaving children together, so if either of them felt the urge to cause harm or mayhem; they would simply target each other and leave the rest of the children in peace. Gale had to admit that this strategy worked, and worked well, though the difference between him and her was that he caused trouble out of ill will and boredom, whereas she caused it solely accidentally.

She thought the transfer might have been bearable if only he hadn’t been transferred along with her. She groaned again.

“Stop doing that. Growling about all the time. It’s weird. You sound like a dog.” He said from behind her. “A dog, that’s good. Maybe I’ll call you that from now on. Dog, cur, mutt, _bitch_ -”. He stopped abruptly when the bus conductor stepped out of the vehicle and looked domineeringly at the orphans.

He pointed a chubby finger at them and said in a bellowing voice: “Now look here. No causing trouble on my bus. My bus is clean and unbroken, and I would have it remain so, so keep your grubby little fingers to yourself. Girls on the first floor, boys on the on the deck. Absolutely no absurdity- I’m warning you.” Then he turned to talk to Matron Rue, who stood hawk-eyed and stick-straight at the front of the line.

Gale thought it a tad extreme that everyone automatically assumed orphans to be troublesome and pestering. If anything, orphans were the best behaved bunch in England. They were constantly on their best behavior, especially when out on trips, trying subconsciously to catch the eyes of passersby in feeble hopes of adoption.

Jack pulled at one of her long braids. She made to slap his hand away, but he caught her wrist in a light grip. She looked up at him in surprise. “I’m glad, you know,” he said, a strange look on his face, “that we’re leaving this place.” She looked into his eyes, really looked. She found no malice there, none of his usual boyish mischief. He was being sincere, she realized. He let go of her wrist, still looking at her intently. “Aren’t you? I mean, anywhere’s better than this place.”

She thought for a moment, and then nodded her head slowly; quite unsure of what had prompted this earnestness from him. He smiled at her. She did not smile back. She did not trust this newfound kindness. “Come now, Wolfhound, smile some, won’t you?” He let out a chuckle when her frowned deepened and she turned away from him.

Miss Rue gave them one last stern talking to and bid a prompt adieu, before they filed onto the bus one by one, each child’s expression looking gloomier than the last.

 

❖

 

Tom’s solace was rudely interrupted by a loud rapping on his door. It creaked open and Misses Wesley, the youngest and newest addition to Wool's staff, poked her head inside. She looked him up and down and noted that he was still fully clothed form the day before. “Not slept, eh? Well, up and out of bed. You’re expected at breakfast, fowl temper or not.”

“No. I refuse.” He said without looking at her.

“And why, pray tell, is that?” She quipped at him.

He did not reply and, obviously avoiding eye contact, glared at a wall instead. Misses Wesley, or Karen, as she preferred to be called, raised an eyebrow. Tom was a strange child: Beautiful and brilliant and cold- too cold for a boy so young. Sometimes she thought he mightn’t be a boy at all, but something else entirely. She sensed something from him just then, something he rarely exuded; emotion. She entered the room and sat herself in the metal chair by his writing table, facing him. “Is it because it’s your birthday, Tom?”

He ignored her and continued to stoically stare at the bland gray brick wall. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of saltwater toffees, each wrapped in delicate white paper and silver string, and placed them onto the table top. She looked at him for a reaction, but received none. She opened her mouth to give him well-wishes, but caught herself. She thought better of it and her jaw snapped shut. _What’s the point in wishing him a happy birthday when it will surely only upset him more?_   She stood and left, saying over her shoulder on her way out: “We are welcoming our new members at noon. I’ll give you the morning, Tom, but you’ll be greeting the newcomers like everybody else.” She closed the door behind her.

He waited a beat, listened to her footsteps walk away, then seized a handful of toffees and threw them at the door.

 

❖

 

The double-decker omnibus drove slowly through Bristol to London, too slowly for Gale’s liking, but she was far too anxious to be bored. She tried to stem her nerves by seeking refuge in one of her favourite places; a place she had created in her mind. She called it Der Goldene Palast, _the Golden Palace_. It was a realm in her mind where anything was possible: It was a place where people could fly; minds could be read like books; snow was warm to the touch; mermaids bathed in waters of florescent turquoise; nymphs danced freely in forests of towering evergreen trees and lush shamrock-green moss, and many other wonderful things.           

She closed her eyes and sank into that place. She tiptoed into a lagoon with giant betta fish swimming far below, their lustrous, colourful fins catching the light of glowing sea anemones. She waded out, neck deep into the water, until her hair floated around her like silk in the sky. She watched as mermaids played in the shallows, blowing on their fingertips and producing periwinkle blue sea foam.

The water of the lagoon was vibrating, rippling prominently whenever the bus accelerated or came to a halt, ruining her daydream. She closed her eyes tighter and submerged herself deeper, sinking slowly, slowly, to the bottom of the mere, until she lay languidly on her back on a plush bed of soft sea kelp. The fish swam tranquilly around her in a sort of protective sphere.

She reached out a hand to touch one, a pretty little pink thing stripped with _real gold-_

A hand clapped her roughly on the shoulder and she started so forcefully that she fell off her seat. Had her hand not been outstretched, she would have collided headlong into the seat in front of her.

“We’re here, Mongrel.” said Jack, holding out a hand to help her up. She shoved it away and clambered to her feet. She looked around the empty bus; the rest of the children must have exited already. “Where were you just now? You looked like you were about to pluck an apple from a tree.” he said as they stepped off the bus and onto cracked sidewalk.

_About to pluck an apple from a tree? Why is he being so strange today?_ She wondered as they caught up to the rest of the group, who were huddled together like penguins from cold, outside a set of enormous black wrought iron gates. A large sign hanging above it read harshly in bold black lettering _Wool’s Orphanage_. A young woman, pretty and smiling, dressed in a pale blue matron’s uniform was unlocking the gate from the other side. Gale craned her neck to look up at the building. It seemed to loom over them from behind the gate. It was massive and gray and uninviting. She snarled at the sight of it.

“Stop that, I told you earlier. Stop being weird.” Jack snapped from behind her. She ignored him. “Seriously, look at me Gale.” So taken aback by his use of her proper name, and not another low-blow insult, she turned around and looked at him. His expression was almost fervent. “This is a fresh start. Nobody here knows you. Use that. Try and fit in like everybody else. Nobody knows you, so _use_ that. ”

Her eyes widened at his words. If she could speak, she would tell him to shove off. If she could speak, she would tell him to stop his stupid head games and- and…

Except... his words had reason. It was true; no one here _did_ know her. No one yet thought her a freak or possessed by demons or a witch. She was clean and unsullied of other peoples’ derogatory opinions. She could remake herself here. She hadn’t thought of that before, and what a pretty thought it was.

Her eyes glazed over and she smiled slightly, dazedly. Jack had only ever seen her smile a hand full of times, and each time was distinctly memorable to him. Her smile was an infectious one, though not as infectious as her laugh. On the rare occasions that she did laugh, or even so much as let slip a giggle; people nearby would automatically join in, as if she had emitted some sort of spell that touched all those within earshot. He looked at her dopey, toothy grin and the corners of his lips quirked up of their own accord. He reached out a hand and tucked a wisp of hair that had escaped her braid behind her ear. “ _Use that_ …” he muttered again.

The gate clanked open loudly and both children were jolted out of reverie. He quickly dropped his hand and his smile vanished. He looked over coolly at the matron who held open the gate and graciously greeted the orphans with arms open wide. She actually got down on her knees on the icy ground and embraced the youngest orphans, Delilah Spears and Andrew Harper, before ruffling their hair playfully. Still on her knees, she inquired as to the young ones’ names. Awestruck, they gave them. She looked around at them all and welcomed them with warm words to their new home. The orphans looked around at each other, mesmerized by the affection radiating of the woman. Such kind-heartedness was alien to them. Why, even Gale felt a flutter in her heart.

The matron, who introduced herself as Karen, stood back onto her feet and muttered something about the absurdness of the cold weather, before ushering them all hurriedly inside, where she promised the temperature was "far more agreeable".

They entered warily. Karen told no farce; the orphanage, though bland and colourless, was comfortably heated. Gale couldn’t remember Bell’s ever being this pleasant. Even in summer, the place seemed to emit an acid chill.

They were each handed a pair of black-knit house slippers and told to keep their meager baggage close at hand. Then were told to remove their coats, hang them on little coat hooks lining the hallway leading from the main entrance, and place their shoes on the floor underneath them. They did as they were told. Gale sighed when she slid into her slippers. Even over her rough woolen socks, they were the most comfortable thing she had worn in a long time.

When a man who had claimed to be her birth father had showed up at Bell’s years ago and adopted her; he had dressed her in expensive clothing, adorning her to the wealthy standard of his lifestyle. She had worn pretty dresses and colourful hair ribbons in the year of her adoption. She had slept on silk pillows and bathed in bathtubs filled to the brim with steaming scented water. For an entire year, she no longer felt homeless and boneless, like a nameless pigeon amongst nameless pigeons. She felt comfortable and slowly, ever so slowly, and come to love and trust the man.

Then, on this very day three years ago, December the 31st, her life had taken a sharp turn for the worst. An incident, a colossal accident, had occurred and he had sent her back to Bell’s. Just like that. Like she was nothing more than a case of trial and error, or a unsatisfactory dog being returned to the pound. But she didn’t want to think of that now. She didn’t want to compare her old days to the days to come. This would be a fresh start, a new beginning.

Her neck prickled abruptly and she snapped to attention. She was being watched, she could feel it. She looked around and caught Jack’s eyes. He smiled at her. She relaxed but did not smile back. He reached out a hand and ruffled the top of her head. 

“Now then,” Karen addressed the group, “You are later than we’d expected, lunch is over and dinner will be in a few hours time, but I’ll head on down to the kitchen and grab you all a bite to eat before then, anyway. Follow me.” She began to walk down what seemed to be the main hall and led them into what was obviously a dining room. It looked similar to the one at Bell’s, but cozier somehow. The dining table what massive and made of darkly painted metal, but it was clean and unmarred. It looked well taken care of. Wooden stools lined it on either side, and at both heads of the table were tall-back dining chairs. A fire was lightly simmering underneath a large, arching mantel made of complied brick. 

She bid the children to take a seat and they did, placing their bags containing their personal belongings by their stools. Once they were all sat, she left the room only to return minutes later laden with a pitcher of water, a basket of bread and a butter keeper. She placed the food on the table, then opened a cabinet lining a wall and retrieved metal handled cups. She handed one to each child and sat on one of the stools, not a high-backed chair. She smiled at them as she conversed with them while they ate. Gale listened to their conversation as she chewed on her buttered bread.

She wondered why, if she was being fed and watered and was warm and being smiled upon, she had an ill feeling about this place. Perhaps it was suspicion. The last time she had left Bell’s was blissfully perfect. Too perfect, and the whole thing had blown up in her face before she could even properly adjust. Perhaps it was nerves, but something about Wool’s undoubtedly made her uneasy. 

After they had eaten their fill, Karen led them up a set of stairs, all the way up to the fourth floor, where there was a hallway with doors lining either side of it. One door was opened as they passed it and Gale saw a small bedroom inside. It had only one bed in it. Gale’s heart skipped a beat. _Would they be receiving their own bedrooms?_ She had always shared with two other girls at Bell's _._

There were more open bedroom doors at the end of the hall, and Karen smilingly told them to choose one for themselves. Gale chose the one in the leftmost corner, and noticed that Jack chose the one directly across from hers.

 

❖

 

Tom was relieved when Karen announced that the transfer orphans would be late. He did not attend lunch, but remained stoic in his bed with a book open in his lap.  Hours passed. The wind howled outside his window.

It was in the midst of reading that something odd happened to him. He was nearing the end of his book, when a strange feeling came over him like a fine breeze. It was gentle at first, but was gradually becoming more intense. His arms and legs prickled with goose-flesh. He furrowed his brows and looked at his window, thinking that maybe a cold tuft of air was sneaking through the sill. He got up to inspect the windowsill more thoroughly, but concluded that it was firmly latched shut. As he stood by the window, he saw a double-decker bus pull up at the curb outside of Wool’s. He craned his neck for a better look, but the bus had parked out of view. The transfers had arrived.

The strange sensation lingered about him. He frowned, confused. _Curious_ , he thought. He turned from the window, walked over to the bedroom door and put his ear against it, listening. He heard nothing. After a moment, he opened the door just a crack, pushing the toffees on the floor aside with his foot. Still, he heard nothing. He opened it wider, just enough to poke his head out, and could then make out the faint sound of the front door's keeper bell clinging, as it did whenever it was opened. He opened the door fully and stepped out into the empty hallway. The feeling was coming from there, from where he could now also make out the muffled voice of Karen, obviously speaking to the transfers. He quietly padded over to the first floor landing and the feeling intensified with every step he took. He peaked over the railing.

Karen was holding the front door open for the orphans, and they sidled in one by one. They looked around and took in their new surroundings. He drew back slightly, into the shadows and out of sight from them. Last to enter was a girl, followed closely behind by a tall blonde boy. Karen shut the door once they were all inside, instructed them to take off their winter garments and hang them on vacant hooks.

Tom stared at the girl, who stood straight and alert, like a snake ready to strike at a moment’s notice if provoked. She was hatless and wore her long hair in two braids that hung down her back. He tried to decipher what colour it was; it wasn’t brown, nor blonde, but a mixture of the two. He had never seen braids like that; they started at the very top of her head and hugged her scalp so tightly that it looked painful. He tried to take her in, but she was wearing an absurdly ugly and overlarge boy’s jacket which effectively hid away the rest of her. He wondered how old she was, and tried to get a look at her face, but she was facing away from him.

It was coming from her. The feeling, now completely enveloping him, was coming from _her_. He knew it, he just knew it. It wasn’t altogether an unpleasant feeling, he decided. It was distinctly nonthreatening; alluring and insistent.

He had never, in all his life, cared or shown interest in another person because he had simply never found anyone interesting. But this girl- _this girl..._

Who was she? What was her name?

Karen gave them all house slippers, the same kind Tom himself was wearing. The girl slid off her mittens, undid her jacket and slipped it off her shoulders. She placed it on a hook, took off her shoes, placed them underneath her coat, and put on her slippers.

He saw that she was wearing loose black trousers, also likely meant for boys, and an over-sized grey-knit jumper. He also noted that she was skinny. Too skinny, even for an orphan. 

She straightened abruptly and looked around, and he saw her face. He had never found anyone pretty; he had certainly found people ugly, but never pretty. He had never cared for peoples’ looks, as long as they weren’t insultingly hideous. Never, until then.

He found her pretty. She had a narrow, oval face with softly arched eyebrows, high cheekbones and a pointed chin. Her cheeks and nose were red from cold. He couldn’t see the colour of her eyes, and squinted to get a better look, but her lashes kept them from view. He watched her look at the blonde boy, who had just put on his slippers. He grinned at her, and Tom was pleased to see that she did not return his grin, though her shoulders visibly relaxed. The blonde boy let out a chuckled breath and ruffled the top of her head. Tom’s eyes turned to slits. _Were they friends? Were they siblings?_

Karen bid them follow and the orphans did. Tom peered over the ledge, watching the girl's back until she was out of sight. He did not know who she was, but he would find out. His curiosity was peeked, and when he became curious, there could be no stopping him. He would investigate this girl, this orphan. Something about her drew him in, almost _physically_. His intuition, which had never served him badly and was always accurate, told him that she was different from the others. 

He wondered... Maybe, just maybe, she was like him: special.

Tom walked back to his room, pondering the idea, and was too enthralled in his thoughts to realize that he had stopped fretting over his birthday.

 


	3. The Beginning of New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Itsy-bitsy chapter before the real fun begins...  
> Also, please read the tags. This story will get dark, and there will be graphic violence and slash. 
> 
> If you don't like it, don't read it:)

Karen had left them to their own devices and let the orphans settle in, stating that the bell signaling dinner would go off in a few hours time, and they should make their way back down to the dining room when they heard it. Gale sat down uneasily on her bad. She had no belongings, except for what she was wearing. A month prior, Miss Rue had once again commissioned Father Uriah to "cleanse her of impurity", and the priest had taken away her meager possessions (some books, additional clothing, and rock collection) convinced that perhaps the demons had infested themselves there as well.

_Poppycock_. Gale knew she wasn't possessed, but there had been no convincing Miss Rue. Miss Rue had been on her tail ever since Gale had accidentally set Jack's hair aflame. Gale wasn't even entirely convinced that it was _she_ who had done it. How could she have? She held no matches and the nearest kerosene lamp was hanging on a wall metres away from them! She had simply snapped when he had shoved her out of his way, banging her head into a wall and effectively breaking her nose. He later claimed it had been an accident, but she remembered quite clearly; in that moment she had wished him harm and ill-will and pain, but never thought, never _truly_ wanted it to happen. But happen, it did. She would never forget Jack's surprised expression and wailing- _wailing,_ as if his entire body was on fire, not just his hair. As if his entire body was in excruciating pain...

A hand waved in front of her face. She jolted and look up to see Jack standing over her. She internally scolded herself for being so jumpy and anxious, and wondered why he was being so conversive with her today. Perhaps his speech on "new beginnings" was meant both ways; perhaps Jack was turning over a new leaf. Not that she cared. She pointed at the door for him to get out. 

He ignored her and said for the second time that day, "Where were you just now?"

He caught her eyes unconsciously flitting to his hair, which had long since grown back to it's usual thick mane of golden-blonde. He sat down next to her on the bed, too close for her liking; his shoulder brushed hers. "Let bygones be bygones, I say." He smiled at her. She frowned at him. _What does he want?_

He must have read her expression because he cleared his throat and said; "Oh! I wanted to give you something." He reached into his pocket and produced a small, reddish rock. He held out his hand for her to take it. She stared at it, then at him. "It's from Chalkwell Beach, remember the pretty beach? When we went on a trip to Canvey Island?"

She remembered that trip, though she didn't remember it being pretty. It had been cold and gray and the orphans had nearly frozen off their toes and fingers. She nodded her head slowly, but did not take the rock. "Well," he continued, "You used to collect rocks, but didn't take any back from that trip. So I did. For you. Here, take it." When she didn't, he sighed irritably and forcibly took her hand, placing the rock into it. "Happy New Year, Gale."

Then he did something utterly surprising: He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. Then he got up and left, closing the door silently behind him. 

Gale sat, still and shocked. She opened her palm and looked at the rock. She liked it, she decided. It was an ugly currant red colour, dotted with pewter specks. Not pretty, but peculiar, odd. The sort of stone nobody would even think to collect. The sort of stone she _would_ collect. 

She did not quite know what to make of it, but placed it on her desk all the same. 

_New beginnings for me and for him and for both of us,_  she concluded. 

 

 


End file.
